Chapter 20
Alaric
The Black Marrow
I barely had time to register what was happening before Garen was on his knees beside Nerina, his hands hovering over her unmoving form.
Her skin, once luminous and smooth, now cracked beneath my touch—dry as coral, brittle as a shell left too long in the sun.
Her glow, once a steady pulse beneath her skin, had dimmed to a flicker—weak, fading.
Her lips—cracked and bleeding—parted slightly; she had been trying to speak before she lost consciousness.
I fell beside him, reaching for her hand. Too cold. Too still.
My jaw clenched, an uneasy weight settling in my gut. A knot twisted in my chest—raw, unfamiliar, something dangerously close to fear. I’d seen bodies break, seen men torn apart by sea and sword, but this? This felt personal.
Intimate. Like the sea had reached through me to take her. And the thought of losing her—of watching her wither away under my watch—left a bitter taste in my mouth.
"She’s needin’ water," Garen muttered, voice strained.
I barely heard him over the dull roar in my ears. The tang of salt and sweat clung to the air, thick and suffocating. My hands curled into fists.
How had I let this happen?
I am the captain. I should have known. Should have seen the signs before she reached this point.
She’d been aboard for weeks—long enough for the signs to show.
The exhaustion in her movements. The slow fade of her brilliance.
The way her breaths had grown shallower each day.
But there’s no damned handbook for this—no How to Care For Your Mermaid guide tucked away in the captain’s quarters.
"Get me water. All of it," I barked, my voice slicing through the tense silence. "Buckets, barrels—I don’t care if you drain the damn sea. Move!"
The crew, for once, moved without question.
Heavy boots hammered the deck. Seawater sloshed in buckets.
It all blurred together as someone hauled up the old wooden soaking basin we used for salting rope coils.
It wasn’t meant for this, but it was large, watertight, and the only thing big enough to hold a mermaid.
I didn’t wait.
I lifted her carefully, cradling her against my chest. She was too light.
She had withered under my watch. A faint warmth brushed my neck—weak, fleeting.
Cold hit like a lash as I stepped in, seeping into my boots, rising to my knees with a numbing pull.
As I lowered her into the basin, it sloshed violently, seawater slapping the rim as the crew threw buckets in—hissing as it met her skin.
Like the ocean was sighing in relief. The change was immediate.
Light bloomed beneath her skin, dancing like bioluminescence through her veins—first a flicker, then a storm.
It spilled in waves, curling over her shoulders, down her back, until her body shimmered with liquid starlight.
Her dull glow reignited into something luminous.
Alive. The cracks on her lips sealed as if they had never been there.
Color returned to her cheeks—rich, full.
Then, before our eyes, the magic took hold.
Her legs melted away, the shift seamless as her skin turned smooth and iridescent—deep blues and silvers swirling like the tide itself, as if the ocean had reclaimed its own. Her tail—her true form—curved beautifully beneath the water, the fin twitching, waking from a long slumber.
The sight was mesmerizing.
The entire crew stood still—silent, entranced, afraid to disturb the moment.
Even I, who had seen the depths and the horrors they hid—ships swallowed whole in dead of night, creatures with too many eyes lurking just beyond lantern light, men vanishing into the black abyss—had never witnessed a transformation so raw, so ancient.
The first time, I really saw her.
Not just a mermaid with fiery temperament and too many secrets. Not just the defiant girl who crashed into my world like a storm—but her.
Light clung to her like a second skin. Hair like molten silver drifted around her in the water, threaded with violet starlight.
Her skin shimmered with hues I didn’t have names for—blues, violets, iridescent fire—etched with glowing patterns that pulsed like a map of constellations.
The crescent on her forehead blazed softly, the mark of something ethereal.
Moonlight caught on her tail like silver flames. For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Every scale shimmered with its own light—soft, haunting, impossible. Hues of violet, rose, and pale blue rippled across her skin, like the night sky itself had sunk into her flesh.
The water clung to her like glass, tracing the lines of her tail as she moved. Each motion sent a slow, hypnotic gleam through the dark—moonlight scattered through the depths. The fin fanned behind her, delicate and translucent, catching the faintest glow of the stars.
I’d seen beauty before. But this… this was something else.
I’d pulled her from death—twice if anyone is counting—but she looked like something reborn.
I’d hunted legends my entire life, but in that moment, watching her tail shimmer beneath the moon, I realized I was looking at one. Not a creature born of the sea—perhaps something beyond it. Something I’d never be able to possess, no matter how much I wanted to.
The ocean never truly let its daughters go.
If they lingered too long, the sea would call them back, one way or another.
This was proof their connection to the water was more than myth.
It was law. And yet she had been on the ship for weeks—over the ocean, not in it.
Did that delay it somehow? Had the ocean been waiting for her to return—its pull dulled, but still present?
Or had she simply been stubborn enough to resist for longer than she should have?
Nerina gasped, her whole body lurching upright. Water sloshed over the sides, crashing against the deck as she thrashed, sending the crew stumbling back. Her chest rose and fell in rapid bursts.
Panic moved through her eyes, soft but consuming, erasing their usual spark—the mischief, the defiance I had always known.
Moonlight fractured in them, fear and recognition braided together, as if she were standing at the edge of something vast and nameless.
Her gaze faltered, searching, before it found mine, and when it did, my chest tightened in a way I didn’t understand and couldn’t escape.
Stars had drowned in those eyes. No—that wasn’t right.
They hadn’t drowned at all. They had chosen to fall.
And I realized, with a clarity that felt like surrender, that she was the sky itself—and I was already lost to it.
I barely moved, my body going still.
She stilled.
A slow, lopsided grin spread across her lips.
Then, to my complete and utter disbelief, she giggled. I narrowed my eyes. "What—"
"You," she drawled, lifting a dripping hand and poking my chest, the cold touch shocking against my skin, "are very handsome."
Garen drew in a breath beside me. His nose wrinkled. "By the seas, she’s deep in the drink."
I frowned. "She’s what?"
He huffed a laugh. "Aye, she smells like she bathed in rum."
My gaze snapped back to her. Nerina swayed slightly in the water, eyes gleaming with amusement, and the scent hit me like a tide—seawater and rich spiced rum clinging to her skin.
She radiated heat now, magic and alcohol tangled together in a haze of impossible recovery.
She must have gotten into my stash—and judging by her state, more than just a sip.
I arched a brow, glancing at Garen. "Great. She’s waterlogged and drunk. Perfect combination."
Garen smirked, shaking his head. "You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?"
"You wound me," I muttered, turning back to Nerina. She was still grinning, though her head lolled slightly to the side, as if the world was tilting around her. "How much did you drink?"
She squinted at me, swayed, then lifted her fingers and began counting—badly, pausing once to hiccup before continuing. "Umm… two? Maybe five? What comes after five?"
I muttered, "Damn it, Nerina."
I sighed, scrubbing a hand down my face. "You know, for a creature of the sea, you’ve got the tolerance of a cabin boy on his first shore leave."
Nerina gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest, slurring every word. "Rude. Iam.. a majesticalmagical being."
"Uh-huh. About as majestic as a beached fish."
She giggled again, tail flicking against the water, sending another splash over the edge. "I like you, Pirate. You’re funny."
"And you're a nuisance."
Nerina’s tail flicked, sending another splash over the edge, drenching my shirt.
"That was on purpose," I muttered.
"A little," she admitted with a smirk.
I exhaled slowly, bracing myself for whatever nonsense was about to spill from her lips. The crew held their collective breath, waiting.
The gods themselves were laughing at me. Nerina tilted her head back and burst into uncontrollable giggles.
Laughter—cautious at first—bubbled up like a tide after a storm. The tension broke, soft and steady, as the crew leaned in, easing under the weight of shared relief. Someone snorted. Another let out a deep belly laugh.
"Well, Captain," one of the deckhands said, grinning, "she's got good taste, at least."
Garen smirked. "A drunk mermaid singing your praises? That’s a new one."
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Glad you’re all enjoying yourselves. Someone get her a blanket. And something to eat—if she drank that much on an empty stomach, she’s going to regret it soon enough."
Not that I had the slightest idea how to care for a sober mermaid or a drunk mermaid—let alone the hungover one I’d be dealing with later.